


8 Ways For Sameen Shaw To Say I Love You

by lonewolf007



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Fluff, Happy Ending, No Character Death, One Shot, canon until 5x10, mentions of Finch, mentions of Fusco, mentions of Reese, mentions of TM, minimal angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 20:24:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7188791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonewolf007/pseuds/lonewolf007
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You were never good at the whole feelings thing.</p><p>But you have feelings for Root.</p><p>And maybe, just maybe, that's not the worst thing in the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	8 Ways For Sameen Shaw To Say I Love You

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing Shoot fanfiction, and inspired by this:  
> http://thoughtcatalog.com/r-mckinley/2012/12/8-ways-to-say-i-love-you/
> 
> Characters, of course, do not belong to me, credits to the amazing writers of Person of Interest for giving us such a great show and amazing characters, and this beautiful gem of a relationship.

You were never good at the whole _feelings_ thing.

It’s not like you didn’t have any at all. But they usually felt distant, like watching a thunderstorm happening out at sea while you stood on the dry shoreline. It was just like that girl said. Everyone has _feelings_ , just the knobs on yours are turned way down.

Mostly.

You were never good at the whole feelings thing, but that was before you met Root.

Up until that point in your life, you had inklings of these emotions that other people took for granted. That never really bothered you too much – they always seemed more a hindrance than a help when you watched people break down and fall apart around you. And you didn’t care if others thought you were cold, callous, maybe a little bit broken; maybe you were. But even so, you _did_ feel shifts when things happened.

A blip of satisfaction when you completed a mission successfully.

A shot of anger when someone got in your way.

A jolt of joy when Bear loped up to you, tail wagging a mile a minute.

A gulf of emptiness when someone who… meant something to you… goes somewhere they can’t return.

That last one is a feeling you never care to experience ever again in your life – however long that may be when you spend your days fighting an AI system that's gaining power with every passing second.

You felt stirrings of these emotions inside you from time to time, but then you met Root.

And the world you understood got turned on its head.

Root made you… _feel_ things. From the moment she appeared in your life – opening that door as Veronica Sinclair before tasering you, zip-tying you to a chair, and almost putting a hot iron on your chest – she became a constant pain in your ass.

She was annoying. Confident to the point of cocky. And _constantly_ getting on your nerves and under your skin. You wanted to shoot that stupid smirk off her face for _months_ after you first met her. Constantly one badly timed joke or flirt away from knocking her out cold like you did after that first mission the stupid Machine sent you two on.

But for some _inexplicable_ reason, rather than scare the tall, annoying hacker away, it all just made her _flirtier_ and _more overt_ in her… interest or whatever… for you. She’d find ways to lean close, touch you on the shoulder, on the back. Looking at you from across the room with those stupid eyes and that stupid smile. Constantly dropping innuendoes at the _worst_ times.

You figured she was doing it for fun, riling you up and making you _angry_ , like it was her own personal game. But you figured, if she wanted to have some fun, you ought to have some fun too. You weren’t going to lie, as annoying as Root was, she was also hot, and with the number of hints she dropped in every one of your interactions, you’d thought ‘ _hell, why not_ ’ in that CIA safehouse.

Your first mistake.

Hot sex with the annoying, otherwise talkative, flirty hacker was actually pretty great, and the hum of satisfaction throughout your body afterwards was, you decided, not entirely bad. At all. Also, she couldn’t annoy the fuck out of you when she was in the throes of passion.

And it had started out fine. Root would be your bane in the day, and your cure in the night. She made you feel angry and annoyed, and she made you feel satisfied. You didn’t give it much thought, because these were feelings you were somewhat familiar with already, if maybe not to this level before. Still, you knew them. What did it matter if they happened to be more intense when Root was around?

Maybe that was the second mistake. Not seeing the signs for what they were.

You’re not sure now, but maybe there had been a point when you realised that Root’s concern for your wellbeing went past what someone would consider normal for two women who worked together only under necessity by a robotic overlord, and who had occasional, really amazing sex. Some part of you always knew that Root seemed to hold you in especial regard, but you did your best to just block that part out at the beginning. It started getting harder though, when she actually seemed to _care_ – and that pissed you off like nothing else ever had. Because you were a fucking ex-Marine _and_ ex-ISA operative, you didn’t need some tall, irritating, pretty hacker worrying over you.

But then you realised that _you_ seemed to care about _her_ too.

It was never a practice of yours to look too deeply into the ‘whys’ of your actions. So it didn’t strike you until years later, when Reese mentioned it in passing, that you must’ve ridden across an entire state – on a _bicycle_ for crying out loud – to Root for a _reason_. You told him to shut the hell up, because you’d been _doing it for the mission_ , and that she was _one of our own_. Which was true. Only, now you realise that maybe, just maybe, it had been a bit more than that too. Even back then.

It was already too late.

You’ve been through hell and back. Literally.

You didn’t know what turn your life would take that day, when the Machine sent the number that led to you all being at the Stock Exchange. Because hell, you weren’t going to stand around in the goddamn _subway_ while the rest were on a dangerous mission against Samaritan.

You raced to the scene of action, and you can never forget the way Root looked at you when you appeared. And of course, she’d been shot. The woman didn’t give enough of a damn about her own fucking wellbeing.

The conversation that followed as you blazed your way across the room together stayed with you for all the months that followed, while under Samaritan’s power.

_“You and me together would be like a four alarm fire in an oil refinery.”_

_“Sounds cosy.”_

Maybe you’d given it a thought or two. Only very briefly though. Just in passing, of course. It was impossible for you _not_ to have considered it, you reason. But, the truth is, maybe you had given it some thought, and you came to the conclusion that while Root was hot, good with a gun, and just generally pretty badass, you were both so full of destructive energy you couldn’t see it ending without the world going up in flames. That’s what you had told yourself.

You’d told yourself that you didn’t want the baggage - being attached to anyone in any way, shape or form. You weren’t capable of that kind of attachment, the kind that Root wanted. And there were too many _feelings_ involved, and that was outside of your scope, outside of your capabilities. The mark of a good operative was to know the extent of your own abilities, and your own limitations. And this, this has always been your biggest – though in this line of work, it was never really considered a limitation so much as an _asset_.

But the bottom line was, Root and you couldn’t be a thing. That had been your answer.

Except you were wrong.

Because it was too late, and when you pulled her in to give her that kiss – a kiss goodbye – and pushed her to the back of the elevator, the only thought going through your head was to protect them, protect _her_ , because Root won’t die, not on your watch. And when you ran across to press that override button, you could still feel her lips on yours. As Martine came around the corner, gun raised, you fired a shot at her. Then a second. But there were too many, more Samaritan operatives coming around the corner and you felt the impact but not the pain.

The last thing you heard before you blacked out was Root’s cry.

Over seven thousand simulations. Endless months of torture, endless months of lies, endless months of being put into a false reality by Greer and Samaritan to try and get you to turn against your own friends. And they succeeded. For everyone.

Everyone but Root.

Because Root is your safe place. Root is the one person you will never kill. The one you will do everything in your power to keep alive.

How ironic, that you started out wanting to kill that woman, and ended up wanting to save her.

Over seven thousand simulations, and not once did you pull the trigger on Root. Only on yourself, because that was easier to bear than losing Root. And that should have been more than enough for you to realise that, between all the annoying flirting, irritating commentary, stupid recklessness, and mind-blowing sex, Root has left a mark on you. Somewhere deep and dark, where you thought no one could ever reach.

You were never good at the whole feelings thing.

But you have feelings for Root.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s not the worst thing in the world.

* * *

One.

You splash some more amber liquid into your glass. Whiskey has always been you drink of choice, and you’d finished up with the latest number three hours ago. You figured you deserve to take a break, and lean back against the couch in one of Finch’s latest safehouses.

Subconsciously, you raise a hand up to touch behind your left ear, feeling for the non-existent lump there.

You’ve been back for months now, and it hasn’t been easy. Escaping the compound still seems half a dream, and it’s only the memory of just how _fucking annoying_ Root was, in your impromptu meeting which the Machine had so cleverly arranged, that convinces you that this is real. Because no matter how many times Samaritan reinvented Root, it never got her right. Only the real Root would be crazy enough to pull a gun on herself in response to you.

And even though the team’s dynamic has changed a lot while you’ve been gone, the annoying inappropriateness of the tall hacker hasn’t changed at all. Still flirting at the worst times, in the middle of a gunfight. Or during a wild car chase. In the subway in front of everyone. _Including the dog_.

But maybe you liked it. Just a bit.

You didn’t want to fight it anymore. Had stopped fighting it a long time ago. Because Root is a pain in the ass, but she’s _your_ pain in the ass, and in a world where your feelings have always been turned down, muted and distant, she is the one who turned it up – just a bit. But it was enough.

What was it she’d said? _“If we’re just information, just noise in the system, we might as well be a symphony.”_

The memory makes your lips curl upwards involuntarily, and you quickly cover it with a scowl. And down the rest of the whiskey in a gulp.

You’re definitely not a lightweight when it comes to alcohol, but you haven’t eaten anything since lunch, it’s almost midnight now, and half the bottle’s gone.

Ordinarily you’d never miss a meal, but there’s more on your mind tonight than food. There’s a reason you decided to head to a random safehouse, instead of the subway. A reason you decided to take this night for yourself and a bottle. Because the number was right; no one has forever.

There is no guarantee of tomorrow. Especially for all of you; the last ones standing in the face of the greatest, unknown evil of all.

But you never thought a day would come when that would matter. You’re not scared of death; haven’t been for what feels like your entire life now. You and Death have come to such close quarters so many times, you’re on a first name basis now. But that was before Root became _something_ to you, and you didn’t shoot yourself in the head seven thousand times for fun.

It must be the whiskey that has you reaching for your phone, even though you know Root’s out working a number. Otherwise she’d probably be here with you. You bring up the number without having to think, and press the call button. You know you could tap your ear and have a direct line to her, but you’re not ready for that, as your slightly hazy mind scrabbles to find purchase on reality.

As predicted, the phone buzzes straight through to voicemail. An automated voice on the other end telling you to leave a message.

“Root.” And you stop. The silence stretches on. But the moment of… whatever this is – madness, courage, drunkenness – has passed, and you’re stuck with the slightly static-y sounds of the rarely used phone line.

Finally, you say two words. “Be careful.” And you hang up.

When you see her the next morning at the subway, you with your customary special scowl for her morning perkiness, and her with her soft eyes and affectionate “Morning, Sameen” for you, you don’t say anything.

She doesn’t either.

* * *

Two.

You push her against the wall, but it’s more gentle than usual.

Since your return, the sex has changed. Or rather, it’s developed. It wasn’t just the same rough and dirty sex you’d enjoyed before everything happened at the Stock Exchange. You still have that of course, but another side has crept in too, something softer and more tender, which surprises you. Not that you hadn’t thought about it like that, because even if they were just simulations, you were still you. And those quieter moments in bed were nice, though you would _never_ admit it out loud.

It was just that, you didn’t think you two had the ability to be soft like that in reality. But then you think about how Root looks at you, how she touches you and worries about you and maybe it isn’t such a stretch to think that maybe she just wants to _be_ with you.

Your hands are on her hips, pushing her back against the brick as you cover her lips with yours. Her arms are wrapped around you, pulling you in close as she lets out a soft whimper somewhere in the back of her throat that undoes you completely.

Suddenly she spins you both around, and you’re against the wall now, her stupid smug smirk inches away from your face as she looks at you with those stupidly gorgeous eyes. You growl, pushing against her, but she holds you fast, leaning in to claim another kiss which you give too readily. You kiss her deeply, a hand tracing up and down her side while the other maintains its tight grip, and as she loses herself in the moment you take advantage of this, pushing her towards the couch.

At the last moment, Root turns you again so you’re the one falling on to the couch with her following and straddling your hips. You growl out her name, anger and desire warring inside of you, but she only smiles down at you. When you tug her down though, she comes willingly, and you suck on her tongue, bite at her lip hard enough to draw a gasp.

She gives as good as she gets, and you’re both a panting mess locked in a fierce battle of lips, teeth and tongues. And in the middle of all this, you don’t even realise it when words slip past your mouth.

“You make me so angry.”

Root stops and pulls back to look down at you. Her eyes are hooded with desire but there’s some curiosity there, and far too much of something you’re not ready to name yet.

“I do?”

You swallow and nod, hands locked around her wrists. “So angry. All the time.”

She stares down at you for a moment longer, before her mouth splits into a grin. “Good.”

And then she’s leaning in again, and down, fingers undoing your shirt deftly as she nips at your collar bone. You growl again, eyes flashing. You wonder if she actually understands just how _angry_ she makes you.

* * *

Three.

“Hey, Sameen.”

Her voice purrs into your ear through the earpiece, and it sends a shiver down your spine, as if she was right there beside you. “What do you want, Root?” Your response is brusque, but you can’t help the slight upturn of your mouth.

“Just checking in on my favourite girl.”

You can practically see her glowing on the other side of this conversation, and you _know_ she knows that you were trying to hide your own smile. You scowl, annoyed. “You and I both know that I’m perfectly fine. Why are you really calling?”

“Three o’clock.”

Your eyes flick to your right to see some guy giving a girl a bouquet of flowers. You frown. “Are those poisonous or something?”

“No, they’re just normal roses.”

You huff, getting more irritated by the moment. “Is someone gonna attack them?”

“No.”

“Root, why am I watching a bunch of love birds in a fucking park?”

You can almost hear Root’s shrug down the line, and her voice sounds amused as she answers. “Thought you might enjoy a spot of people watching. But better get keen, Sam, your number is making his way to the news kiosk next to the fountain.”

You curse under your breath, rolling your eyes. “Shady looking dude with the cap and the hoodie?”

“I knew I liked you for a reason.”

“Shut up.”

“Sadly, I might have to. Got to go, I’ll see you soon, sweetie.”

“Wha–” you hear the line go dead before you get a chance to ask, and you swear again. “Fuck you, Root.”

The line buzzes to life again. “You can do that tonight, babe.”

* * * * *

You are not romantic. And neither is Root. And honestly, nothing about your relationship is _normal_ , from the way it began, to how it progressed into what it is now. Nothing about you two is _normal_ , but you wonder if Root sometimes wishes for something that is.

When the hacker rolls up in a silver BMW, looking at you like you put the stars up in the sky for her, you just shake your head and climb in.

“I love watching you work.”

You can’t help the smirk that crosses your face when you glance across at her. “Enjoying the show?”

“Immensely,” her eyes trail down over your body before coming up again. “Hungry?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

“Sorry, sweetie. I didn’t get time to pick up your favourite pastrami sandwich before I got here. We can go there now though.”

You deliberate silently for a moment, before you come to a decision. “Let’s go to that new steak joint that opened up on Sixth.”

Root looks over at you, surprise and happiness in those brown eyes. “Why, Sameen, is this a date?”

That makes you narrow your eyes at her, and she grins, eyes back on the road now as she changes the route towards the new destination.

As you walk up to the restaurant, you pass a florist. You try not to think too much when you go up to the counter and buy a bouquet of a dozen roses. You walk out of the store to find Root still standing where you left her on the pavement, and thrust the flowers into her chest.

She fumbles for a moment, before taking the arrangement and holding them gently, eyes lit up in the most beautiful smile you’ve ever seen. You can see a million questions flashing across her mind, but she only lifts them up to her nose, taking a moment to breathe the scent in. When she follows you into the steak house, she’s practically skipping, and you’re having a hard time keeping the smile off your own face.

* * *

Four.

You lay awake, listening to Root breathing as she sleeps against you, aligned hip to hip. Arms and legs tangled together.

You were never one for the whole cuddling/pillow talk/intimacy afterwards, but then again, you were never one for a lot of things before Root came along. It had taken some time for Root to wear down your walls, but maybe it was always inevitable. The truth is, you like being able to feel Root breathe against you, feel the rise and fall of her chest.

It reminds you that she’s alive. And that this is real.

Another thing that the simulations never got right – there was always distance between you in the simulations. And maybe that made sense, given who you are. But it was also wrong, because every morning, you’d wake up with Root wrapped around you, or you wrapped around Root. Always close together, some part touching. And maybe that was residual of the time spent apart, of the horrors you’ve both been through, how close each of you have been to death. The contact is a reassurance. A tangible manifestation of each of your lives, because if Root is lying in your arms, nothing can touch her. Because you won’t let it.

You didn’t ever think you’d want to hold someone like this. It just didn’t factor into who you were, the same way feelings didn’t factor into who you were. Except they did, because even if you’re not like other people and you can never really feel the same way they do, you feel _something_ and it’s powerful and real.

You lay there, listening to every intake of breath, every out. Counting the seconds between each one. Three seconds. Even in and out. A light snoring quality to it that makes something twinge in your chest.

You count the number of breaths she takes. One, two, three, four. Finger absent-mindedly tracing a pattern onto a bare arm. Five, six, seven, eight. You look up at the ceiling, and have an overwhelming need to say something. So you speak to the darkness.

“Root.”

You test the name on your lips, so familiar that you can recall exactly how it falls from your lips.

“Root.”

You let it roll off your tongue, and you think there’s something different about the way you say it this time – like there’s something sweet and soft infused in the single word. Like it holds a secret. You kind of like it.

“Root.”

You close your eyes and drift off, not noticing the way the breathing pattern beside you shifts slightly, or the way a nose nuzzles into your neck.

* * *

 Five.

You stalk around the subway, grumbling.

You’ve been confined for a few days, because your new cover was a littler precarious at best right now, and the team thought it best for you to sit tight and lie low for a while. You bristled almost immediately at that, furious that you had to stay underground while Reese and Fusco and Root and even _Finch_ got to manage the numbers.

That was before Root came up behind you, a light hand on your wrist. You’d turned around, ready to retort, only to see a look on the woman’s face that you’d never seen before. Brown eyes terrified and pleading as she begged you to _‘just please listen’_ , and then you remember the last time you came out unexpectedly, and how that had ended.

How Root had spent ten months searching for you, never giving on you, desperate to bring you home.

How Root was willing to shoot herself because to her, a life without you wasn’t a life worth living at all.

There were almost tears in those eyes, and you can’t say no. But you make it clear that you won’t sit around if they’re in danger. And she accepts that, and the memories of _last time_ hang in the air.

So you stalked around the station, irritated and bored. It hadn’t been so bad when Bear was there, but Root had taken him out for a walk as she went to check up on one of their numbers. So now you’re here, all alone, tracking the team’s progress and trying not to shoot something, just to alleviate the boredom.

The sound of boots on the concrete suddenly echo throughout the station, and you look up quickly to see the leather-clad hacker walking towards you, brown paper bag in one hand, Bear’s leash in the other. The dog bounds towards you, giving you a hello lick before trotting over to his bed and flopping down. You then turn your attention back to Root.

“Hey, Sameen. Miss me?”

She leans in, and you roll your eyes. But you kiss her. A soft lingering one that leaves her a bit dazed as you pull back to look at the paper bag.

“Is that my sandwich?”

“Mhmm,” Root regathers herself, eyes lingering on your lips for a moment before she grabs a hold of the conversation again. “Made to order, as promised.”

You grin, grabbing it and quickly unwrapping it before taking a huge bite. Root just watches you eat, the same way she did the last time you were confined and she had that ridiculous “Mr Bearenstein” suit.

“How’d the number go?” you ask between bites.

Root shrugs. “Fairly straightforward this time. Fiancé was in some bad business, and the mob put a hit on his bride to teach him a lesson. We took out the ring, and they’re safe.”

“Did the bride find out?”

“She did. Said she didn’t care about his past, as long as he promised her the future. They’re set to get married at the end of this month.”

“Hmmm,” you turn your attention back to your sandwich whole-heartedly then. Until Root speaks again.

“We had a wedding number. While you were… away.”

You look at Root, but she’s staring at the wall, eyes distant. You don’t say anything, just wait.

“I wasn’t meant to be there. At the wedding. But I crashed. The ceremony was beautiful. Except for the hired hitmen, but that made it exciting.” Her lips quirk for a moment. “We were at the dinner afterwards. The bride and groom looked so happy together, dancing.” Root stops talking, hands in her lap.

You watch the woman beside you. Wonder what she had thought when she sat there, watching the happy couple dance the night away. You wonder, but maybe… even if you’re no good at this, you think you might know. You can’t quite believe you’re doing this when you stand up and step in front of her.

Root looks up at you in surprise, as you extend a hand to her. “May I have this dance?”

The look of surprise remains for a second longer, before it transforms into that beautiful smile only you seem to be able to bring out. The now-familiar twinge in your chest happens, and it’s less about you doing something stupid, and more you doing this for _her_ because seeing her smile like that makes you feel good. She takes your hand and you’re both moving around the subway together, while music suddenly plays from the speakers.

You glance towards where the Machine is currently housed in the subway car, screens innocently blank. But you’re not fooled. You scowl slightly at the height difference between you and Root, but when you feel her smiling against your cheek, you can’t bring yourself to feel annoyed.

* * *

Six.                                                                                  

You walk down the street, watching your number on the other side of the road as he does his best to look innocent and unassuming. You roll your eyes at his attempts to be covert. His poor attempts to be ‘ordinary’ were doing the exact opposite for him. _Try hard_.

You see him duck into an alleyway, and weave through the traffic to follow. Just as you’re about to step into the side street, the payphone behind you rings. You stop and glare at it, but you already know it’s for you.

With a huff, you walk over to it and pick it up. “Golf. Oscar. Lima. Echo. Foxtrot. Tango. Golf. Oscar. Lima. Echo. Foxtrot. Tango. Golf. Osc–”

You hang up, frowning. Maybe the number would come back out onto the street and you could cut him off. This whole mission was confusing the fuck out of you though. You didn’t have any intel on the guy you were tailing, no clue whether he was victim or perpetrator. And the Machine told you that this was top secret and you couldn’t tell the rest of the team what you were up to.

That last part had you _really_ suspicious. Especially when you almost told Root you had a number, and the Machine just happened to intercept the conversation with some message for Root. The hacker had tilted her head, listening, before giving a nod and leaning in to kiss you goodbye. “Machine’s got a job for me. I have to go. I’ll see you tonight.”

You continue to make your way along the street, eyes searching for the furtive target. There’s no sign of him until you reach the end of the next block, when he steps back out onto the intersecting street. With the number in sight now, you zero in, watching as he turns and steps into a jewellery store.

Your mind flickers through a number of different potential scenarios: robbery, covert business dealings, covers for less-than-legal transactions. Slowing your pace, you look at the store with feigned interest, to see the man you’ve been tailing peering over a glass case towards the back of the store. With no other clues from the damn Machine, you take the steps up to the store and push the door open, scowling at the tinkle above your head.

“… always loved silver though. But the gold is more traditional I suppose…”

“We do have a lovely platinum band if you’d like to see it.”

You frown, watching the most mundane scene unfold. Your number is looking at a bunch of rings, helped but a little old lady who must be the proprietor of the store.

“Oh hello, dear!” _Fuck_ , well now she’s seen you. “I won’t be a moment. Did you need help with anything in particular?”

“Uh, no. Just looking.”

You glare at the rows of neatly organised rings sitting in velvet as you try to understand just _what the fuck_ is going on. So your number was looking shifty because he didn’t want anyone seeing him go in to buy a ring. A little red light catches your eye, and you glare up at the camera. After standing there for another minute, you decide you’re done, and leave. When you pass a payphone and there’s no ring, you take it that the Machine is fine with you leaving too.

Your feet take you to the playground involuntarily, and you sit down on a bench near the swing set. Your eyes find the CCTV camera on the lamp post, and you stare at it until you see a little red light appear, slowly blinking at you.

You scowl at it. “Did you seriously send me a number for some guy buying a ring for his partner?”

You don’t expect a response, watching the stupid little light flash on and off slowly.

“I could’ve been doing something actually useful in that time.” You watch two kids run towards the swing, laughing and shouting. After a while, you glance back at the camera. “Are you trying to tell me something? Is that it?”

Blinking light.

You just look at it, unimpressed. You can’t believe you’re even having this conversation at all. “I haven’t even told her.” You look away, choosing to watch the way the wind ruffles through the leaves of the trees lining the sidewalks. “Seems a bit of a jump, don’t you think?”

Still blinking.

You roll your eyes. “This is stupid. What do you know about this stuff anyway? A sociopath talking to a robot about feelings.” You shake your head at the irony of the situation. “You’re the last one I should ask for advice.”

Red light on. Red light off.

“We’re not normal like that anyway. We don’t _do_ that normal stuff. _I_ don’t do that normal stuff. We’re a fucking four alarm fire, we’re safe places and shapes and noise in the system. We’re…”You cut yourself off, before you can think about it all too much.

But somewhere deep down, you _know_ , you’re Root and Shaw, you’re a duo. She’s a reformed killer for hire, and you’re a sociopath. You’ve both got blood on your hands, and dark pasts to bury, but maybe Root was right when she said it, ‘ _we’re perfect for each other_.’ Maybe you were seeing that now, maybe you’ve always seen it, known.

But that was too complicated, that was too close to things you always thought were just irrelevant to you. It was too hard to communicate all of this with words, so you didn’t. This was the closest you’ve ever gotten to talking about whatever _this_ is.

“You better not tell her.”

The light blinks. You glare. And then you recognise the pattern. O-K.

You narrow your eyes, not sure you trust it. Trust _Her_.

“Hey sweetie.”

You spin around to see Root sauntering towards you, classic leather jacket and four-inch boots on. “Root.”

“She told me I might find you here.”

You shoot the camera another look, but you wonder if it’s too late. But then the woman sits down beside you, placing a bag in your lap. Onion rings.

You’re not sure if it’s just coincidence, or if there’s more to it. You don’t question it though. Just open it and begin to eat.

But when you offer her the bag, you see her give you _the smile_ , and when she leans up against you and rests her head against yours, you have to shove another onion ring into your mouth so she can’t see yours.

* * *

Seven.

You feel empty.

And not the usual kind of distant, thunderstorm-out-at-sea, muted kind of empty. But the kind of gulfing, bottomless empty that numbs everything inside of you.

Thousands of stray bullets. Thousands of grazes. Thousands of gun fights and knife fights and car chases and bomb detonations. To survive all of that and then get hit by a fucking car while trying to protect a number.

You were at the scene in an instant, Reese by your side. One look, and you know it’s bad. Your years of medical training have taught you that when there’s that much blood on the road, chances are slim. And so you go numb.

And you feel empty.

But while everything diminishes down into nothingness, your brain clicks into clinical mode. The one quality that made you the perfect doctor. And you manage to commandeer your way into the hospital, trusting the Machine to take care of the logistics behind identities and whatever else is needed to make sure you don’t leave her side for an instant, and she receives the best care there is available.

You manage to get into the observation bay to watch the procedure as Root goes under the knife, and you watch, every single move the surgeon makes. Twice they need the crash cart. But then it’s over, and Root is being wheeled back to ICU, and you stay with her and watch over her, and wait for her to wake up.

On the third day, she opens her eyes, and you breathe for the first time since this all started. And the emptiness inside of you fills itself up a little. Then she looks at you, with a weak smirk, and says “The haggard unwashed look is really doing it for me.”

You stare at her for a second, before a laugh actually bursts out of you. Because _what the fuck, Root!?_

“You really do flirt at the most awkward times.”

“I know.”

You smile at each other, and your chest twinges stronger than ever, and when you lean in to kiss her, the emptiness is replaced with fullness. When you pull back, you glare at her, and the look in your eye is dangerous.

“Don’t you ever fucking do that again.”

* * *

Eight.

You’re sitting on the floor of the subway station, patting Bear. Reese and Fusco are at the precinct, and Finch is in the car, doing coding or something. You ruffle Bear’s ears, grinning as he licks at your face. It’s just when you’ve gotten the big guard dog to roll onto his back so you could rub his tummy that you hear the familiar footsteps ringing out against the stone.

A hand touches your shoulder lightly, and you see legs crouch down beside you. Root rubs Bear’s belly, giving him a soft word of greeting, and you can’t help smiling at the whine and lick he gives her fingers.

“Hey, sweetie,” she finally turns her attentions to you, giving you an affectionate peck on the cheek before you pull her in for a proper kiss that leaves her a bit breathless. “You busy tonight?”

“No.”

“Well you are now. We’ve got a new number. Might have to steal a jet,” she smirks at you, eyes sparkling.

“Hmmm, steal a jet? Been there, done that.”

Root pouts playfully. “What if I actually take you to the place that serves the steak that’s ‘better than sex’?” She actually uses quotation marks for the last three words, as if that idea's ridiculous. (And you might agree, just a little bit.)

“Hmmm…”

“I promise you’ll get to shoot at least five kneecaps.”

You smirk back. “You know me so well.”

“Gotta keep my girl happy.”

You roll your eyes, turning back to the dog while you try and contain your grin. You know she can see it full well, and the way she looks at you so… _lovingly_ … kind of sets your skin on fire and makes your chest feel tight.

“I love you.”

The words come out before you even realised they wanted to, and they hang in the air of the subway station like the world’s loudest silence. You don’t lift your eyes, just keep staring at Bear with a concentrated intensity as you feel Root’s gaze on your face.

“I just wanted to say it, okay? Don’t make this weird.”

A breath. Then:

“Okay.” Her voice is soft, but it’s the same.

“And don’t expect me to say it again.”

“Okay.”

A pause.

“I just wanted you to know.”

Quiet. And then you watch a hand come out to wrap around yours, and you let your fingers lace together.

“I knew.”

And you finally raise your eyes to look into soft, beautiful, brown ones that belong to the hacker that turned your whole world upside down. You look into them, and they’re clear and confident and warm and loving. And you smile.

“Just for the record, I love you too.”

* * *

 

You’re not great at the whole _feelings_ thing.

But you have feelings for Root.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s one of the best things in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> I've written a number of fanfics before, but this is my first time writing Shoot. I hope I managed to get the characterisation right, and it was an especial challenge trying to write about loving someone from the POV of someone with Axis II Personality Disorder. I hope I did it justice.
> 
> But I just really wanted to write this fic, because I've written one before using the same inspiration for another ship, but I took this one in a bit of a different direction. And I wasn't sure exactly how this would end, but I kind of like how it turned out.
> 
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Your faithful Shoot shipper,  
> Steph


End file.
